“A wife that is good enough for you and Casa Di Bello.” “Bah! What do you tell me?” he growled walking to the door. “Talk to me about wives! They are as thick as the sparrows in Paradise, and just as hungry. Good, fine wives, too.” He dropped into the chair, thrust his hands into his pockets, and extended his little legs. “Who is she?” he asked after a while, twirling his huge mustache. “Marianna. Don’t you remember her? Bertino’s foster sister. A fine young girl; no bad habits and sound in health.” “What age?” “Eighteen.” “You’d better buy your passage ticket,” he said, “if you wish to go on to-morrow’s ship.” CHAPTER VII A FLUTTER IN THE TOMATO BANK WITH a step almost frisky Carolina took leave of her brother, well content with the first fruit of her wooing. She had won the consent of her husband elect to wait for her bride, and the rest of the courtship seemed a matter of plain sailing; wherefore she hastened across the Park to the steamship office and bank of Signor Tomato to secure her passage for Genoa. The glow of triumph was upon her. She felt it a certainty now that her will would prevail in match-making as it had so many times in match-breaking; and this desirable condition, she reflected, was merely as it should be--only the reward that the just had a right to count upon receiving. Had she not eaten salted fish in Lent and kept all fast days, while her brother had devoured flesh in open shame and Angelica had been detected munching garlic _salame_ even on Good Friday?